Archive of Our Own

"No," said Josephine firmly. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" said Leliana, her eyes disarmingly wide.

"Stop thinking about poisoning him," said the Ambassador. "Do you realize what repercussions there could be for the Inquisition if it was known that suitors for its Ambassador's hand were being assassinated?"

"Fewer proposals?" said Leliana hopefully.

But her eyes were not laughing.

*           *           *

The week had been hard on both of them. It had started so well; they had woken early on the first day, but not exactly risen early, and had gone off to their respective tasks refreshed and extremely cheerful.

But for Josephine that had not lasted past the opening of the letter from Antiva, and for Leliana no longer than it had taken Josephine to find her.

"There you are," said Josephine. "I have been looking all over for you. I've just received the most terrible news."

"What is it?" said Leliana, alarmed by her tone.

Josephine looked away helplessly and then back at her lover, which alarmed the spymaster even more. Finally she said, "I'm engaged."

"What?" said Leliana blankly. "You—how did this happen?"

Josephine sighed in frustration. "For the past year, my mother and father have searched Antiva for a match for me. They had mentioned to me that it was time that I wed, but I did not know they were actively doing something about it. They had no idea you and I had grown so... close. Today I received a letter declaring they've betrothed me to Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva."

Sometimes in a fight a blow would be struck and the victim would continue fighting until they fell, not realizing that a limb had been lost, that the blade in their guts was fatal. Leliana, wordless, thought she now understood what that felt like.

"I must deal with this." said Josephine. "I will deal with this. But Leliana... until then, we cannot be seen in a compromising situation. It is not right that we carry on while I am betrothed. To do so would compromise my family's negotiating position. I must break off the match first."

Leliana felt light-headed. Her hands twitched; they felt detached from her body. She pulled herself together and said only, "I... understand. Let me know what I can do."

"I'm so sorry," said Josephine, sounding close to tears. "I—I should have spoken to my parents before. I will do my best to fix this. I can fix it, I know. It will just take time."

"There must be something I can do to help," said the spymaster. "Josephine, I will do anything I can. Anything."

The two of them stared at each other. All Leliana could think of was that she wanted to take Josephine in her arms and comfort her—and now she could not.

She could not.

Josephine made a visible effort to pull herself together. "I can handle it, Leliana. Now I must see to this. And to my other duties. If I can keep my mind on them today at all." And she turned away.

*           *           *

Leliana retreated to the Rookery. She needed time to think.

They had had only a few weeks, less than a month, since their reconciliation, and what was between them felt precious and fragile. They were still being careful, still gentle, still finding their way back to each other.

And now, to have it snatched away, even temporarily... Leliana was of Fereldan heritage but had been raised mostly in Orlais, and she wished now with all her heart that Josephine had also been Orlesian. Antivans had a inconveniently strict sense of propriety. An Orlesian would not have seen an impediment to—but unfortunately Josie was not Orlesian. And so they must be separated yet again.

After a little time she sheathed her daggers. The marks they had made were perhaps a little too deep to sand out, but the table was not valuable and had many old scratches and dents; they would hardly be noticed.

She must remain calm. If Josephine said that she could break off the engagement, she could. She would.

She must not allow her distress to make it worse for Josephine. She would not allow her own suffering to show. She would tell Josephine that she had full confidence in her abilities to solve the problem, and demonstrate that confidence by calmness. Yes.

*           *           *

When Josephine had told Leliana of the engagement, she had seen one moment of stricken desolation, and then it was as if a mask came down over her lover's face, and all emotion left it. It was the face she had seen over the months of their estrangement. It was the face of the Left Hand of the Divine.

The Left Hand had shut herself down, had turned from kindness and love to cold expediency. The Left Hand was the bitter and frightening stranger who chose violence and cruelty as weapons. She had watched that stranger consume Leliana, leaving a dry husk that could not or would not even allow Josephine to touch her. Josephine could not bear to think that this woman might return, or the thought of what would happen to them if she did.

She must not allow it to happen to them again. She would not allow it. Leliana had offered to help, but Josephine feared the help of the Left Hand; Leliana must not be permitted to do the things that she was so good at, that would push her back toward being the woman with the hidden weapons, the woman with the knives. She would forbid the spymaster from involving herself. It was clearly the most sensible thing to do.

*           *           *

When the Inquisitor came to Josephine’s office a little later that day, the Ambassador immediately told her what had happened. It was not that it had anything to do with the Inquisition, but there was the possibility that she might need to travel to Antiva to deal with her family. Both as Inquisitor and friend, Trev must know.

Everyone would know soon enough; they would hardly be able to hide the fact that they were no longer close.

"Inquisitor," she said, "I have had news that my parents have betrothed me to Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva."

Trev stared at her. "What? But you and Leliana— How could you let this happen?"

"I did not let this happen," said Josephine a little hysterically. "I did not know that my parents were matchmaking."

"Leliana will—" said the Inquisitor, and then, alarmingly, stopped. "Does she know?"

"Yes, of course," said Josephine. "I told her as soon as I found out. But because of this, Leliana and I cannot—" She stopped abruptly. "We cannot be together until I break off the match, and that will take time."

"I am so sorry, Josephine," said Trev after a pause. "Is there anything I can do?" And then her expression brightened. "Wait, there is a simple solution. We will have him assassinated."

"What?" said Josephine. "No! I'm engaged to him!"

"But you don't want to be engaged to him," said the Inquisitor, frowning. "Unless I misunderstood, and you have accepted his proposal? Josephine, you cannot—you would break Leliana's heart if you carry through with this marriage."

"No, I have not accepted the proposal! I don't want to be engaged!" cried Josephine. "I am going to break it off!"

"An assassination would be much quicker," said Trev reasonably. "Leliana could—"

"NO!"

But at that moment the door opened. "Inquisitor," said Cullen, "May I speak to you for a moment on an urgent matter?"

"Of course," said Trev. "Josephine, we will talk more about this later. We will deal with the problem."

And then she was gone.

*           *           *

Trev was usually pacifistic and inclined to diplomacy, but she was also protective of her friends, and her response to Josephine's disclosure had been unsettlingly bloodthirsty. It had also sounded as if Trev had intended to involve Leliana. That must not be allowed to happen.

Josephine did not exactly follow the Inquisitor to Cullen's office, but she made sure that she could intercept Trev when she emerged. "Inquisitor," she said urgently, "with regard to what we spoke of—I have it all in hand. There is no need for any kind of violence. Please allow me to deal with this myself."

Trev looked skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"I am very sure," said Josephine. "An assassination over a personal matter would only bring discredit to the Inquisition. An assassination is not necessary. I have asked Leliana to leave this to me to deal with. She does not need to be involved."

And Trev finally, reluctantly, agreed.

*           *           *

The night after Josephine's news was cold and lonely; Leliana had not realized how rarely she slept in her tiny room in the Rookery now, until she did so again.

She went to Josephine's office the next day, and when they were alone, said, "Ma colombe, I trust you in this. I know that you will be able to solve this problem." She managed what she hoped was a serene smile and took her leave, and did not see the worried look Josephine cast after her.

It became even harder, a few days later, when Josephine found her in an almost-private corner and said, "I'm afraid untangling my engagement to Lord Otranto will take some time. It must be done carefully, and without causing dishonour on either side, and it is... complex. My parents will have worked through an agent when arranging this betrothal. I could contact that person directly and order them to break it off, but it would be dreadfully scandalous for me to do so, and Lord Otranto would have cause to claim great financial penalties if the breaking of the contract was not negotiated with his agreement. And all that would harm my family greatly. And... my parents would be very angry with me; I am not sure they would ever forgive me. So I must first win the support of my parents, and work with them on how to deal with the matter and negotiate a mutual withdrawal."

Oh. "Is there anything I can do?" said Leliana. "There must be something—" And then she stopped, for a delightful thought had entered her mind. "Wait—he is Antivan. It would be acceptable for me to challenge him to a duel for your favour. That would settle things quickly and simply."

"What?" said Josephine, looking horrified. "No, Leliana, please! It is not necessary. I can manage this. The traditional form of dueling among Antivan nobles isn't usually fatal, but there's always a chance of harm. I hardly wish to see you skewered on a swordpoint for the sake of my honour."

Leliana looked at her and said, "I would not be the one skewered on a swordpoint."

"No!" said Josephine, now seeming frankly and inexplicably terrified. "Promise me that you will not challenge him. Promise me!"

Leliana looked at her and hesitated. "But—"

"You are a candidate to become the next Divine!" said Josephine hotly. "Apart from anything else, you must not be seen to be brawling in the streets!"

This did not seem like a reasonable objection to Leliana; a Divine who was capable of dealing with all threats, on the streets or otherwise, and who was well known to have such capabilities, seemed on the contrary to be quite desirable. "But—" she said.

"No," said the Ambassador.

Promising was the last thing the spymaster wanted to do. She might not use her martial skills as often as she used to, but she sparred enough to keep them well tuned, even the formal skills of fencing, and did not have a false humility about her abilities. Even a noble who prided themselves on their swordplay was unlikely to have the skills of someone who had the training of a bard and had spent as much time fighting as Leliana had, of someone who had helped to kill an archdemon. She might not be as elegant a duelist as he, but she would certainly be effective.

It made no sense to prohibit this solution. It would be simple, quick and efficient. She could not understand why Josephine was opposed to it.

But it was clear that she was. Josephine had a look in her eye that was not at all tolerant. Josephine looked... desperate. Leliana sensed that, for whatever reason, to challenge her in this would be to risk their relationship. She would not chance that, not again.

"And promise that you will not arrange things so that he learns of our liaison and challenges you," said Josephine, looking at her hard.

Ah. That bird had flown.

"I promise," she said. "I will not challenge him to a duel, or provoke him into challenging me over you." And then she brightened. "But I could assassinate him. Poison—"

"No," said the Ambassador. Leliana sighed. And that was when Josephine had forbidden her to even think about poisoning Lord Otranto.

"It would not have to be so obvious as poison," said Leliana reasonably. "I could arrange for him to be trampled by a herd of druffalo. Charter was a druffalo herder in her youth, she could—"

"No," said Josephine.

"We could simply warn him," said Leliana, "and imply that the Inquisition is displeased with his proposal. If we frighten him enough he would be likely to withdraw his offer. We could—we could put a dragon's head in his bed. It would be logistically challenging, given the size of dragon heads, but we could make sure the message was clear. And I believe the Inquisitor just recently killed a smallish one."

"NO!" said Josephine, and caught hold of Leliana and pushed her down hard into a nearby chair and glared at her. "Leave me to handle this! I do not want you involved. This must be done diplomatically. Promise me that you will not assassinate him."

Leliana, caught by surprise, stared at her lover, who was normally not so assertive in personal matters, and found herself distracted by the unexpected strength of Josephine's grip, the set of her jaw, the firmness of her lips, the curve of her breast, and wanted...

And then it hit her fully for the first time. It would be weeks, months, possibly many months, before she could hold Josephine again. And that was if things went well.

"Look at me and promise!" said Josephine, and Leliana regretfully pulled her eyes away from her lover's bosom.

"All right," she said, pulling herself together and letting a mask of calm slide over her face. "I promise. I will let you handle this."

Josephine was still watching her suspiciously. "I am sorry," she said. "I—I would never have chosen this. Why did it have to be now?" She sounded close to tears.

"It seems we do not get to choose the time of our happiness," Leliana said gently. She was close to weeping herself, though she was careful to hide it. "But we will find a way to manage this."

But Josephine, despite having acquired her agreement in all things, still looked profoundly disturbed.

*           *           *

Leliana had promised, but Josephine was still nervous. She believed the spymaster when she had agreed not to challenge, not to provoke challenge, not to assassinate—of course she did. Leliana would not lie to her. But she had made very specific promises, and the Ambassador was not certain that she had succeeded in preventing Leliana from doing... something. She had no idea what that something was; despite her early training, which in truth had been limited, Josephine was not a spy, not an assassin, and could not foresee everything that a professional might do.

And Leliana had an excellent imagination, and years of experience at getting round the intentions of others.

The Ambassador had tea with Cassandra. The Seeker had been told of the engagement by Trev, and had come to offer what comfort she could.

"I know that I can break off the engagement," Josephine said. "But it will be difficult... especially with my parents. And it will take time."

Cassandra frowned. "Would it not be simpler to just assassinate him?"

"No!" said Josephine. "That would be entirely inappropriate."

"Can Leliana help?" said Cassandra. "She may have—"

"NO!" said Josephine again, with such vehemence that the Seeker gave a start. "There is no need for her to involve herself. She—" She stopped abruptly, then said carefully, "Leliana's skills are not diplomatic, and this is something best dealt with by diplomacy. I have told her this. I have told the Inquisitor this. There is no need for—for violence—in this matter. There is no need for a duel, or an assassination, or any of the things that the Left Hand might do to solve the problem. I will deal with this," she said through her teeth.

Cassandra, who had simply been going to suggest that Leliana's intelligence network might provide useful information about Lord Otranto, bit her tongue and wondered.

*           *           *

Cassandra found Leliana in the Rookery shortly after dawn the next morning. "I heard about Josephine's betrothal," said the Seeker without preamble. "I am very sorry, Leliana. Are you all right?"

"Thank you," said the spymaster calmly. "But I am fine. How is Josephine?"

Cassandra frowned. "Josephine is... in a state, beyond what I would expect, even knowing how important this is to her."

"It involves relations with her family, so it will be very stressful for her," said Leliana.

"She seems... jumpy," said the Seeker. "I believe she is afraid for you."

"For me?" said Leliana in surprise. Ah—this confirmed her concern that Josephine would react to her lover's distress. "There is no need. I am fine." She was careful to keep her face relaxed and calm, her demeanour smiling and serene; she must give Josephine nothing to worry about if Cassandra reported back to her.

"No," said Cassandra, "you are not." But she did not press the matter, only touching Leliana's shoulder lightly as she left.

*           *           *

Sitting at her table in the Rookery and staring at a map of Thedas, planning intelligence maneuvers, Leliana did not feel so confident. Josephine's diplomatic skills were unparalleled, but was this simply a matter of diplomacy? It felt more like a battle, and one she had been forbidden to fight, even as a foot soldier. Leliana knew that Josephine was likely in some strange way being sensible, but she had no interest in being sensible at the moment. She wished to be passionate, and foolish.

But she had promised, and now there was nothing she could do.

But no, that was not quite true. An arranged betrothal was always based on the premise that the match would be advantageous to both sides; if it could be proved that it was not, it might be easier to break the engagement. She could investigate the man and see if there was anything untoward about him that had been hidden that could be brought to light. There was more than one kind of assassination.

*           *           *

When she saw Cassandra the next day Josephine immediately asked how the spymaster seemed.

"She was very calm, and seemed quite satisfied with your handling of the matter," said Cassandra. Strangely, this did not seem to have a calming effect on Josephine, who already seemed so uncharacteristically disturbed.

The Seeker was nonplussed. Leliana was calm when one would expect her to be agitated, and Josephine was agitated when she should have been calm. She sighed internally. Clearly she would never fully understand other people.

*           *           *

Trev mentioned the problem of the engagement at the War Table, saying that if dealing with it required Josephine to travel, she should certainly do so, and that they would find ways to cope in the interim.

But Cullen scowled. "I do not like this. Could we not just assassinate the man?"

"NO!" said Josephine loudly.

"Josephine prefers that we do not take that route," said Trev quickly, "as it would reflect poorly on the Inquisition and also have an impact on negotiations and relationships that she is already dealing with. The matter will be dealt with diplomatically."

Josephine thought Cullen seemed very dubious about this—in fact, none of them really seemed to understand why the Ambassador might take such an impractically principled stand. She was beginning to wonder if everyone she knew had an bloodthirsty fiend hiding within. They might as well all be Qunari.

*           *           *

Leliana put out feelers, seeking information. Charter, who headed the wing of her network in Crestwood, had an enormous extended family with connections in Antiva, and she was able to determine that Lord Otranto was well known; he was wealthy and owned vineyards, and had investments—controlling interests, from what she could see—in a number of trading businesses. He was known for being flamboyant and dashing and occasionally had scandalous affairs.

But there was something missing; the picture was a little too complete, a little too perfect. He was hiding something.

She sent a coded message by raven to a safe message drop in Denerim. A raven brought a reply within a week.

My dear Leliana, said the message, I would be delighted to help you with this. I do have information on the subject. Denerim is much more friendly than Hercinia, but I find I tire of the smell of dog—I think I might come to Skyhold to see this Inquisition of yours. Expect me within three weeks.

Leliana blinked. She was not entirely sure she approved of the idea of this visit; but it would at least be interesting to see how Zevran responded to the Inquisition, and vice versa.

If interesting was the appropriate word.

*           *           *

Leliana arrived early for a War Table meeting and found Josephine already staring at the great map. "Josie," said the spymaster. "Are you all right, ma cher?"

"It is difficult," said the Ambassador, "but I am coping. Leliana, I have sent a letter to my parents telling them that I find this betrothal unacceptable. I am not sure how they will take that."

"You said that they did not know about us," said Leliana.

"No," said Josephine bitterly. "I had not told them, and evidently Yvette has said nothing to them, though I assumed she would do so."

"Even if they knew, that would not stop them from wanting you to marry and have children," said Leliana, who had been thinking about this problem a great deal over the past days, having never given thought to it before. "They will not be satisfied that you have a liaison with a woman. At best, they will expect you to marry and keep your paramour on the side."

Josephine stared at her. "I know," she said.

"If that is what you must do," said Leliana, swallowing with difficulty, "I would understand. I—I would not like it. But I would accept it."

"No!" said Josephine fiercely. "I do not know Lord Otranto. Even if you and I were not together I would never agree to marry someone I had never met, not knowing even if I could have liking for him. In this I am perhaps not the obedient daughter I should be," she said, flushing, "but I cannot help that." She looked near tears. "Leliana—I never thought to cross my parents in such things. But I do not wish to marry a man simply for the sake of alliances. Perhaps if we had not met... but now I cannot do it. There must be a way that will allow us to stay together. There must." But then her face changed, looking frightened. "Unless... you do not wish it."

"But I do wish it," said Leliana quickly. "I wish it more than anything, chérie. The question of children—perhaps there are solutions. There is no point in talking about it until we have your engagement settled, but after that... then we must plan."

Josephine gave her a look that said plainly that had it been possible to do so, she would be in the spymaster's arms.

*           *           *

Zevran arrived a little before the three weeks was up. He appeared at the gates of Skyhold and announced that he was an agent of the Senechal, and although the guards did not recognize him, he did have a token that appeared genuine, and was admitted with the assumption that he would report to Leliana. But he did not look for her immediately; first he found the Herald's Rest.

Brawls in the tavern were not non-existent, but they were not common. The one that evening was a corker. Zevran had settled in like a regular with Krem and a couple of the other Chargers, bought them drinks, and begun to exchange stories with them. Several tankards later the stories were so good that they attracted an audience. He made unlikely claims about his extensive skills and his history travelling with the Hero of Fereldan (which no one believed for a minute because he had introduced himself only as Zev), and flirted outrageously with everyone within hearing distance, male or female; most of his audience was torn between admiration and annoyance at his effrontery.

Sera, who had come into the tavern late but still early enough to down a few drinks and hear a few of his stories and be flirted with, knew a con man when she saw one and was not afraid to say so. "Maker, you are so full of shite," she said. "Does it run out your eyes when you cry?"

Zevran batted his long dark eyelashes at her. "My lady, you wound me!" he said, hand to his heart. "But I will try not to weep, unless you will allow me to lay my head on your glorious bosom when I do so."

"Pfft!" said Sera, and went off to get another ale.

At that point one of the tavern regulars opined that Zevran had made altogether too many boasts of skill to be believed, and challenged him to a knife-throwing competition at the target set to one side of the bar. Zevran cheerfully agreed, and bets were placed. Zevran won a few rounds, but was clearly not as good with knives as he claimed, though he continued to bet on himself. Then they agreed on a final round, and the last bets were made, with the largest piles of coin. And in that round Zevran had a wolfish grin and Zevran's knives were placed very precisely indeed, each one where it was intended—as they had in fact been in every round.

He was gathering up the coin when Sera, thoroughly drunk by now, shouted, "You got enchantments on those knives, then?" and an ugly murmur was heard from the loser and his friends, who began to move forward.

"No enchantments are necessary when one has skill!" Zevran called back, keeping an eye on the soldiers, who had their hands on their knives. "Do you use enchanted arrows?"

"Fuck you, arse!" said Sera eloquently, and threw her tankard at his head. Zevran ducked, and the tankard hit an Orlesian dandy whose opinion of himself was far above his station in the lower ranks of the Inquisition, and drenched him in cheap ale. He rose to his feet with an outraged roar and lunged for Sera. The Iron Bull, who had been watching it all from the side, raised one fist and poleaxed him. And then the other Orlesians were on Bull's back, and Krem hollered, "Horns up!" and Dalish and Skinner and all the Chargers were on the Orlesians. Zevran, attacked by his competitor and the fellow's friends, spun across the bar and into a rack of bottles of the tavern's better quality goods, which he pushed over on his pursuers, drawing an outraged yell from Cabot and a good number of other patrons, all now inspired to enter the fray.

It was all downhill from there.

*           *           *

"Not so smart, getting yourself in nick first day you're in Skyhold," said Sera, early the next morning.

Zevran shrugged. "It can happen to the best of us."

Sera was playing with a pair of Dalish gloves, trying them on and admiring the look. Zevran's eyes followed her. "Pretty gloves you've got here. Should take better care of them, hey? Not just stick 'em in your belt and hope for the best."

"I was otherwise engaged when you took them," said the assassin, moving and wincing. "But it was nicely done, nonetheless. You might actually make a pickpocket, some day."

"Pfft," said Sera.

The door to the gaol creaked open; Leliana stopped and surveyed the two of them, her arms folded, and then sighed and stepped forward, deftly plucking the gloves from Sera's hands. "The Hero of Fereldan gave those to him," she said, and passed them through the bars. Zevran tucked them back into his belt.

"Maker's balls," said Sera, her jaw dropping. "He was telling the truth?"

"I wouldn't go that far," said the spymaster dryly, putting a key in the lock and opening the door. "All right, Zevran, you're free. And now we need to have a little talk. If you don't mind, Sera...?"

The elf grimaced in a friendly way at Zevran and made her way from the dungeon to spread the news.

*           *           *

Leliana had told the Inquisitor that an old friend from her days travelling with the Hero of Fereldan planned to visit Skyhold; once she mentioned Zevran's name, the Inquisitor's eyebrows shot up. "I should like to meet him when he arrives," Trev had remarked, and the spymaster had promised to introduce them.

This was not the introduction Leliana had envisaged. Zevran's entrance to Skyhold had been awkward, to say the least. She thought it best to take him directly to the Inquisitor. "Inquisitor, this is Zevran Arainai—I have spoken of my travels with him. He was, unfortunately, involved in last night's brawl at the tavern, and I have just released him from the gaol. Zevran, this is Inquisitor Trevelyan."

Zevran, visibly the worse for wear but still unquenchable, swept a low bow before Trev. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, your Worship. I am devastated that I am not able to appear before such an elegant and powerful person as yourself at my best."

Trev's eyebrow twitched. "I am pleased to meet you, Zevran; Leliana has spoken a great deal about you. And if you are not at your best, still your entrance to Skyhold has been suitably dramatic; the gossips will likely be talking about it for at least a day."

Zevran smiled happily and engaged Trev in conversation for a little longer; Leliana, watching, decided in satisfaction by the end that they felt quite favourably inclined toward each other. But she did hope that the rest of his visit would not prove quite so stimulating to the gossips.

*           *           *

Zevran's sources of intelligence and knowledge of Antivan politics were of necessity extremely good. He had, for example, details of a scandal where the Otrantos had cheated the Terrazas of several of their holdings, and done so clumsily and been caught. "It is not wise to mention the name Terraza to an Otranto," he said with a smile.

But this kind of activity was not so unusual among Antivan merchants, other than in its crudeness and heavy-handedness. What was unusual was that, according to Zevran, this merchant prince had invested in information as a commodity. He ran a sophisticated spy network in Orlais, where the Great Game provided endless opportunities for a profitable intelligence operation.

Well, well. This had possibilities.

*           *           *

Leliana had not enjoyed the Inquisitor's reaction to her insubordination when Josephine had been abducted. She did not wish to experience another such calm, considered, and lethally perceptive rebuke. She went to see Trev privately when she was working in her quarters.

"Leliana," said Trev in greeting. "Is there any news?"

"No," she said. "But in a way that is why I have come. Zevran has told me some things about Lord Otranto."

The Inquisitor cocked her head. "Oh?"

And Leliana explained. "This does not affect the Inquisition directly," she said finally, "but... I intend to investigate the man further, and would like to use Inquisition resources to do so. There are direct methods I could use to help her end the engagement, but Josephine has forbidden me to challenge him for her hand, or to have him assassinated. But if there is something that will harm his reputation..." she trailed off.

Trev narrowed her eyes. "I probably don't want to know about the details of this, do I?" Leliana gave her a bland look and the Inquisitor sighed. "I don't like the two of you having to go through this separation. Go ahead, then, and use the Inquisition's resources; but I advise you to follow the absolute letter of Josephine's ruling with regard to your involvement. I don't understand why, but she seems very... resolute... in her views on this."

"I will do so," said Leliana, preparing to take her leave. "Thank you. I will be careful, and discreet."

Trev put out a hand to stop her. "Leliana... this is putting the two of you through a great deal. Josephine has many who will support her, but you are more reserved in your friendships. Should you ever have the need of a friend to talk to," she said, "I know that you talk with Cassandra sometimes—but she is not the only one who cares."

Leliana was utterly taken by surprise. After Josephine's abduction and her rebuke of the spymaster, Trev had been much more formal in her manner to Leliana, and the spymaster had thought the Inquisitor had been so angry with her that their nascent friendship had turned into active dislike. This had saddened her, as she had grown quite fond of Trev. But evidently she had been wrong: now she looked at the Inquisitor and saw only genuine liking and kindness and worry in her face.

She had not expected it, so she had not braced herself against the threat of affection. She swallowed and opened her mouth and found that she could not say anything, dared not say anything, and now, despite all her efforts, her body was betraying her, and there were tears on her cheeks.

"Sit," said the Inquisitor, and took her arm and pushed her down on the settee, sitting silently beside her, and when she had begun to recover herself, handed her a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," said Leliana indistinctly, blowing her nose. "I do not usually—"

"I recommend howling like a lost dog at least once a week," said the Inquisitor. "I find that it helps a little, although one must take care not to alarm the whole fortress."

Leliana looked at her. Trev had a half-smile that did not reach her eyes, but her expression was gentle; the Inquisitor had her own history of unhappiness. The spymaster suspected that she was not actually joking at all.

"I must find a more remote corner than the top of a tower with good acoustics, then," she said.

"You are welcome to howl in my quarters at any time you like," said the Inquisitor, "whether I am here or not. As long as you keep a distance from the windows, no one is likely to hear you. Just warn me if you intend to start when I am sleeping."

Leliana gave a half-laugh, and took her leave.

*           *           *

Zevran must, of course, meet Josephine. But before that happened, Leliana explained the situation.

"That sounds... difficult," said Zevran sympathetically.

"Indeed," said Leliana. "But Josephine is a masterful negotiator, and I am confident in her abilities. However... the man in question is Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto."

Zevran's eyebrows shot up, and he whistled softly. "Perhaps you should have him assassinated? I know an excellent assassin who would work very cheaply for you."

"Josie has forbidden me from having him assassinated, unfortunately," said Leliana, "or even from challenging him for her hand. It may be that his reputation is assailable, and that I intend to attempt. But there is no need for her to know about that. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, my dear Nightingale," said Zevran.

When he did meet Josephine, later that day, he was absolutely charming to her, flirting just enough to communicate that she was a wildly desirable woman, but not quite enough to be inappropriate, apart from an insufficiently veiled suggestion that the three of them might enjoy spending time together, and Leliana thought—hoped—that the suggestion went entirely over Josie's head. And he said nothing to indicate that he had any knowledge of the problem with Lord Otranto.

But Leliana thought Josephine did not seem as entranced by Zevran's charm as she would have expected, given his skill. Certainly she did not expect Josie to fall for it; but in general the Ambassador exhibited an expert handling of repartee, a game understood and enjoyed by all. But this time she seemed to be distracted, and once or twice Leliana thought she had seen the whites of Josephine's eyes.

It was an altogether mystifying reaction.

*           *           *

Zevran was the most alarming thing Josephine had seen in quite some time. He was an old friend of Leliana's, and an Antivan Crow: he was an assassin. Had Leliana brought him to Skyhold to arrange the assassination of Lord Otranto? No, she had promised. But would Leliana consider herself to have kept her promises if an assassination was carried out by someone else, someone not tied to the Inquisition? No, of course she would not do that.

Or would she?

The man himself did not give her any clues. He was smooth and charming and altogether untrustworthy. "Lady Montilyet," he said, "I have been longing to meet you. Leliana has told me how delightful you are, but her compliments do not do you justice. How I regret not meeting you before."

How much has she told him? thought Josephine, replying with a compliment of her own. He must know of the problem of my engagement.

After a few minutes of chat, Zevran took his leave, bowing low over her hand. "If there is anything I can ever do for you, my lady, you have only to ask," he said. "I am your man."

Josephine practically stuttered with nervousness. He means that I may call on him for an assassination! Or maybe he means that Leliana has already asked him to assassinate Lord Otranto. Or maybe this is simply another flirtation? No. Yes. I don't know. I don't know!

It was not as if she did not have enough things to keep her awake at night.

*           *           *

The Terraza affair was interesting, thought Leliana, because it was so clumsy, and the clumsiness harmed Lord Otranto's reputation for competence. Perhaps that could be leveraged. An incompetent merchant was bad enough, but an incompetent spymaster would be a laughing stock. And a man incompetent in both spheres would not be seen as a good marital catch.

Yes.

*           *           *

"That bastard squeezed some of my people with his trading practices," said Varric to Leliana. "Well, I can squeeze back." And then he handed her the names of some Otranto traders with contracts with dwarven merchants.

Dwarven merchants and traders were intolerant of outsiders at the best of times; they would not take kindly to a merchant who failed to deliver what he had promised. It took only a very little sabotage to ensure that a handful of deliveries of goods which were needed for very specific purposes at very specific times did not arrive to schedule.

It was an excellent start.

*           *           *

Josephine hated being in conflict with her parents. They loved her vary much, and would not willingly cause her grief; but they did not understand her objections to marrying Lord Otranto, and their reply to her letter said so. Their eldest daughter was expected to marry; she would marry. Why would she not marry this man? He was a good catch, and there was no reason not to marry him.

Even if she explained about Leliana, they would not understand why her attachment to the spymaster should prove an impediment. If the participants in a marriage were not compatible, or their hearts lay elsewhere, compensating arrangements could be made. This was part of negotiating the terms of a marriage, although such things were couched in careful words.

She sent another letter reiterating that she did not wish to marry Lord Otranto, with a hint that she was involved with someone of importance; perhaps that would buy her time so that she could visit Antiva and talk with them.

*           *           *

It was evident to Leliana that Josephine was deeply unhappy and highly stressed. But perhaps she could do something to make Josie happier. For some time she had been thinking about a gift that would show the depth of her feelings, and she thought she finally had it. In Antiva there was an old custom that a betrothed couple would exchange bracelets at the time of their engagement, as a sign of commitment and a promise for the future. The custom was rarely followed these days except by couples who were very traditional, but Josephine would know exactly what it meant. Perhaps she could have a matching set of bracelets made? She could give Josie hers when she succeeded in breaking off the engagement. It would be a celebration of success and would show that Leliana had never lost confidence in her lover.

Zevran could and often did return to Antiva, albeit secretively. Perhaps he could be recruited as her agent in this. She explained the problem to him, and he immediately recommended a jeweller whose work was elegant, tasteful, and altogether exquisite. "She will be perfect, my dear," he said. "Her work is traditional but also a little unusual, a rare combination. I would be happy to carry your commission to her, and arrange the delivery of the bracelets when they are ready. It will be no trouble at all."

"It will be a very beautiful gift for a very beautiful woman," he said a little later as they walked down the stairs from the Rookery, "and one that carries a great deal of meaning, as I am sure you know. It is the kind of romantic gift that would make any woman fall into your bed."

"I do not think it will be necessary to set that as a goal in this case," said Leliana, smiling—truly, the man had a one-track mind—"but I do wish very much to show her my feelings." And then, a few steps later, she said, "I'm very concerned about Josephine, my friend. She has so many worries, and they are lying very heavily on her. I hope that this little job I've given you will help to make it better for her."

"I am sure it will, and am happy to be your agent in this, Nightingale," he replied cheerfully, and took his leave of both her and Skyhold.

It was unfortunate that Josephine, searching on Dorian's bookshelves for references on Antivan legal matters relating to betrothals, heard only the part that began with Leliana expressing her worry, and Zevran's reply.

*           *           *

There were quite a few things that could be done to harm a trader's reputation, when one had the resources. Equipment could break down, preventing goods from being delivered by deadlines; bandits could attack caravans, assuring that goods were not delivered at all.

Or... pirates.

Leliana sent another message. Greetings, she wrote, I trust that you are well. As you doubtless know, I am now working with the Inquisition.

You may be interested to know that the Antivan merchant Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto has a fleet of ships leaving Antiva City at the new moon to travel to Val Royeaux. They are carrying a shipment of vintage brandy and other luxury goods of great value. Perhaps your fleet would be interested in trading with Lord Otranto.

She added some personal comments and then finished, I think fondly of our previous acquaintance and hope that we may find ways to work together.

She signed it Nightingale, coded it, and sent it by raven to a courier in Llomerryn.

Two weeks later she received a reply:

Nightingale: how lovely to hear from you. It has been far too long; perhaps I will visit Skyhold at some point and renew our acquaintance.

I met Lord Otranto's representative and invited him to a dance; he was initially reluctant but in the end was persuaded to acquiesce. The connection was certainly a profitable one, and I thank you for your recommendation. If you know of other friends of Lord Otranto who might be open for such dalliances, please let me know.

Leliana smiled to herself and made a note in her records. The ships had been carrying valuable cargo; the resultant financial losses would certainly be significant to Lord Otranto. And there were other shipments that might be disrupted...

*           *           *

"I am happy to be your agent," Zevran had said. This was dreadful. The meaning was clear, and confirmation of Josephine's worst fears: Leliana had asked Zevran to assassinate Lord Otranto. She must do something to prevent it.

Countering Zevran would be difficult. He was an assassin, and she did not have a small army of intelligence agents working for her as Leliana did. But she did have a small army of diplomats. Two of them, Lady Sybille Cinterfels and Lord Emilio Asari, happened to be in Skyhold at the time.

"I believe that our spymaster may have engaged the services of Zevran Arainai," she said to them. "I wish to keep him under surveillance, in order to determine if that is true; I have some concerns that he may intend to assassinate Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto, and I would prefer that this does not happen."

"Is this the man," said Lord Emilio delicately, after a pause, "that you—" He hesitated.

Josephine sighed. "Yes. I am currently working to negotiate an end to the engagement."

"Lady Ambassador," said Lady Sybille, sounding puzzled, "I do not understand. Is there a reason you do not wish to have him assassinated? It would simplify things greatly."

"I am aware of that," said Josephine through her teeth, "but an assassination for the benefit of an officer of the Inquisition over a personal matter would bring discredit to the Inquisition as a whole."

They nodded dubiously. It was not as if assassination was not a commonly used diplomatic tool.

"Do not interfere with Zevran or try to stop him," she warned. "He is an Antivan Crow, and very dangerous. But if he notices your presence near himself and near Lord Otranto—and he almost certainly will—it may dissuade him from taking action. At least, that is my hope."

She noticed that they did not accept their assignment with the enthusiasm that Inquisition diplomats usually exhibited; but they would be on their way to Antiva within the day, following Zevran's trail, and that was what mattered.

*           *           *

"I must say," said the Inquisitor, "that your friends have an extraordinary capacity for causing mayhem."

Leliana shut her eyes briefly. "Isabela is more of an acquaintance than a friend," she said. "We met only once, many years ago, when I was travelling with the Hero of Fereldan, and then again for a few moments in Kirkwall."

"Indeed," said Trev. "Well, she strikes me as a woman for whom the term 'friendship' is quite pliable. I found her charming. But please do not tell Cassandra that I said so."

*           *           *

It had not started badly, Leliana thought. They had been at their regular weekly game of Wicked Grace, and she had been considering strategy; dismayingly—Isabela must be very good indeed at moving quietly—she had not even noticed the woman until two arms snaked around Varric from behind and he gave a roar.

"I would know those pillowy bosoms anywhere! Let me turn around and welcome them properly!"

After that greeting was finished—which Leliana thought took considerably longer than the greeting required—Varric turned with a shit-eating grin and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Inquisition, may I present to you Captain—"

"Admiral," said Isabela firmly.

"—Isabela," Varric finished, "Captain of the Siren's Call II, Assassin of the Amarantine Ocean, Fiend of the Felicisima Armada, Bane of the Boeric Ocean, Wrath of Rialto Bay, Queen of the Eastern Ocean... have I forgotten any?"

"Scourge of the Waking Sea," said Isabela, with a smile like that of a cat.

Varric introduced each of his companions at the table, and Isabela said expansively, "I am delighted to meet you all. But don't let me interrupt your game. I'm certain Varric has not finished fleecing his victims."

"On the contrary," said Varric, "that is the job of our Ambassador. And I believe she has taken almost all our coin for the night already; I don't think anyone would mind if we stopped a little early?"

"Of course not," said Trev, smiling. "Old friends must take precedence over impoverishing ourselves." And so the game broke up, but, unusually, no one left; they had all heard far too much about Isabela to want to miss anything.

It took a little time and several pints of ale for Varric and Isabela to catch up, while the others sat and talked and waited for the woman to live up to her reputation, but eventually the pirate eeled her way over to where Trev was sitting.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," she purred, learning forward into a close, deep and impressively revealing bow and taking Trev's hand, "It is delightful to finally meet you. Varric and Hawke have said so much about you."

"Oh?" said Trev, turning pink and finally managing to wrench her eyes up to meet Isabela's, "I hope that it is all complimentary."

"Oh, entirely. I do hope that we may become better acquainted."

"Please, call me Trev," said the Inquisitor, who appeared to be half strangling in an effort to suppress her amusement. "After Varric's tales, I feel that I already know you well."

Isabela smiled meaningfully at her. "Trev, then."

But then Isabela glanced aside and caught sight of Cassandra's expression. The Seeker was watching them, stifling something quite different than amusement and looking like she was sitting on a bed of nails. "And Seeker Pentaghast," said Isabela in a sultry voice, and then, to the delight of everyone in the room except her victim, draped one arm over Cassandra's shoulder and settled into her lap.

Cassandra gave a violent twitch, but her eyes were on Trev, and the Inquisitor was grinning at her reassuringly.

"I have long wanted to meet the Hero of Orlais," Isabela murmured into Cassandra's ear.

Cassandra flamed the most intense shade of red Leliana had ever seen on a human, rendered utterly speechless, and did not seem to know what to do with her hands. Isabela ignored her reaction completely and gave her attention to something Varric had asked. But she was toying with a lock of hair on the back of Cassandra's neck while she spoke to him.

Trev managed to get herself under control and took pity on her lover. "We have tasks early in the morning," she said, "so we will leave you to enjoy yourselves. Cassandra?"

Isabela gracefully acquiesced, sliding off the Seeker's lap and moved on to speak to someone else. "Such strong thighs," she said appreciatively, smiling back at Cassandra.

Leliana thought that the complicated expression of relief, chagrin and regret on Cassandra's face was quite delightful.

*           *           *

The party—for surely it had turned into a party—continued, and became somewhat more raucous. Leliana quickly had enough of it, and was torn between wanting to leave and not wanting to leave before Josephine did. Isabela had not yet spoken to Josephine, and the thought of what she might say made the spymaster nervous.

She tried to speak to Isabela before Josephine encountered her, and failed; there were simply too many people, too many distractions. Would Isabela have the sense to be discreet in what she said? She was drinking a great deal, so Leliana was not hopeful. And Isabela was not discreet at the best of times. She gave up on trying to intercept Isabela and stayed close to Josephine; in all the confusion this would surely be unremarked.

In the end, Isabela said not a word about her interactions with Lord Otranto's fleet. But Leliana was not at all sure that it would not have been better than what she did say.

"Lady Montilyet," said Isabela, coming up behind them unexpectedly, "I have heard of your skills as a negotiator; I am not surprised to hear that you are capable of such ruthlessness at Wicked Grace."

"The pleasure is mine," said Josephine, composed and smiling. "Varric and Hawke have spoken of you often."

The Admiral smiled and turned to the spymaster. "Leliana, it has been so many years since we first met; you have scarcely changed."

"Oh, I can hardly say that," laughed Leliana.

"But I can," said Isabela cheerfully, her eyes half-lidded and her expression dreamy. "Certainly we knew each other only briefly, back in Denerim, but it was a most memorable encounter." And then, having imbued that statement with all the innuendo it could possibly carry, she moved on to speak to someone else.

Leliana realized that Josephine was watching her with a glint in her eye; she was not certain whether it was hostility or amusement. "Memorable?" said the Ambassador.

"I will tell you all about it sometime," said the spymaster hurriedly. "But now—I really must return to the Rookery; I have messages I must send."

Isabela was talking to the Iron Bull when Leliana fled; he looked both bemused and intrigued. At least she was not still talking to Josephine. But Leliana would have felt much better if she had known that the Ambassador had taken her leave as well; that pirate was not to be trusted.

*           *           *

Josephine had enjoyed talking to Isabela, especially after Leliana left and she was able to sit down and discuss privately all kinds of things that the spymaster's presence might have inhibited. After weeks and months and years—years!—of being precise and careful in her interactions, of judging every utterance by herself and others, it was refreshing to speak to someone who was not afraid to speak bluntly and with absolute candour.

About anything.

It was an educational evening, in many ways, thought the Ambassador with pleasure, as she made her way to her quarters much later. The party was still in full swing when she left; Isabela was in close conversation with Sera by that point; their heads were together, they were giggling, and they appeared to be conspiring about something.

Which explained why, by the next morning, all the Inquisition flags had been replaced by crudely sewn pirate flags. What was astonishing was that they were in place for most of the day before anyone noticed; clearly the inhabitants of Skyhold did not look up nearly often enough.

*           *           *

The Inquisitor took it well, overall, when Josephine reported the plundering of the stores. It was only the loss of two bolts of cheap fabric, after all. "Considering the boost in morale the prank generated, it is worth it," said Trev.

"It is probably a good thing that Isabela only stayed for a week," said Josephine, sighing. "If she and Sera had gotten truly creative it could have become very expensive."

"Indeed. We do not need to have too many things go missing. And speaking of things gone missing," said Trev then, struck by a thought, "do you by chance know where my last dragon's head got to?" She could not understand the horror in the Ambassador's expression. It was a perfectly straightforward question, after all.

*           *           *

Josephine wished she thought her plan to dissuade Zevran was likely to be successful, but in truth she doubted she could really do anything to stop him. The only way to be sure he could not assassinate Lord Otranto would be to assassinate him first, she thought. And I do have people in place, now...

And then, NO! What am I thinking?

*           *           *

It was intriguing, Zevran thought. They were associates of the Ambassador, diplomats of fairly high stature, yet here they were, pursuing him to Antiva City. They must have been sent by Lady Montilyet; but what possible reason could she have for having him followed?

Well, no matter. He had only two concerns; they must not draw attention to him and they must not learn what his commission actually was. He could manage both of these issues easily.

"Lady Sybille! Lord Emilio!" he said, coming up on them unexpectedly, "Zevran Arainai. We met in Skyhold, yes? What brings you to Antiva City?"

Truly, their consternation was delightful. He barely gave them time to speak, talking of the beauties of the city and its culture, there was so much to see at the moment, and all so delightful. "And at this time of year there are so many things going on," he enthused. "Why, Lord Dominic Almeda has brought the famed Orlesian musician Augustin Bouchard to give a concert on his estate. I am greatly looking forward to the performance."

This planted the seed; he then arranged for an Antivan diplomat to draw them into conversation, mention the concert, and offer to get them an invitation. Their absence from the city would give him plenty of time to complete his commission, and he would be gone before they returned.

The performance was to debut an étude referencing a traditional fairy tale that involved mystical beings arising from a lake, so Almeda, who fancied himself an aesthete, built a series of platforms in a lake on his property. The composer and accompanying musicians performed on the one in the centre, and the guests were scattered over the others. A flotilla of rowboats delivered the audience to their assigned platforms.

Unfortunately the builder had cut corners; the platforms were built of very cheap materials, and carelessly. This would probably not have mattered if all the guests had stayed where they were delivered; but Josephine's diplomats, convinced that Zevran would strike at this event, bribed a rower to take them from their assigned platform to that of Lord Otranto, hoping that their presence there would dissuade him. The rower was doubtful—"Won't be enough chairs," she said—but acquiesced to their wishes once a substantial amount of money had passed hands.

The addition of two individuals to the platform did not cause an immediate disaster, but it pushed the stresses on the structure just a bit further; and somewhat later, when the performance ended and the audience surged to its appreciative feet, changing the weight balance, a joint popped and the whole thing toppled sideways, decanting its guests into the lake and taking down a second platform with it.

Luckily no one drowned before they could be rescued by the rowboats, although there were some close calls. The person who was in most danger was Lord Otranto, who had almost smothered under the weight of a particularly fashionable gown before he was able to fight his way from under its enveloping fabric.

He said nothing at the time, or at least nothing that could be repeated in polite company; but when he heard of the two individuals who had joined his platform despite the rigidity of the assigned seating arrangements, he wondered, and investigated.

*           *           *

Because so much attention had been paid to the pirate flags, no one noticed the other prank that Sera and Isabela instigated: the theft—or "borrowing," as the pirate put it—of the dragon's head. It had been a small dragon, but very beautiful, fast and deadly, and had been particularly difficult to kill, so Trev had wanted to commemorate their victory. It had been given to one of the tanners who had a sideline in taxidermy. He had begun the process well, but then been distracted by an urgent troop supply project. He set it aside, and along with everyone else had forgotten about it.

But Sera had not forgotten. Sera had been part of the hunting party, and thought that there must be something entertaining that one could do with a dragon's head.

Neither Sera nor Isabela was quite sure what that entertaining something might be, but they agreed through a haze of ale that acquiring the head was the first step. They recruited Bull, who was immensely entertained by the whole idea, and several of the Chargers, who together provided most of the muscle for moving it, while Isabela provided expert advice on ropes and pulleys and knots. They carried the head down to the gaol and left it temporarily in an unused cell with a broken door until it was clear that there would be no immediate outcry about its disappearance.

By then Sera had an idea for its relocation. "We'll hang it in the Lady Ambassador's office," she said. "Everyone thinks she's all softy and sweetness, but underneath she's a right dragon." The others thought this was a fine idea.

Isabela had gone back to her ship by then, but Sera and Bull and the Chargers got it up to the main level of the keep fairly easily and hid it temporarily in a ramshackle, rarely used shed in back of the armoury. This would have been an excellent hiding place, except that the armoury hosted a great number of cats, who could squeeze through very small holes and found the dragon's head fascinating, and as a result the head ended up a little the worse for wear.

The cats, in the meantime, often spent at least part of their nights with Cassandra when she slept in her loft, which she still did when Trev was away on expeditions without her, and their little cat paws went everywhere; and after some days she began to wonder why everything in her loft seemed to smell of dragon. It was an acrid, cindery smell that was perfectly acceptable on the creature itself, but inappropriate and somewhat unpleasant elsewhere.

But she could not find the source; it was a little too faint to have a clear direction, and seemed to be everywhere.

Perhaps it was her gear; it was not so long since she had hunted a dragon with the Inquisitor. She cleaned her armour and weapons frequently, being naturally meticulous about such things, and now she cleaned them again, this time taking obsessive care with every buckle, every fitting, every decoration, and paying special attention to cleaning and conditioning the leather parts. She sent her clothing to the laundry, and then the change of clothing she had worn while the rest was washed.

The smell was still there, and she still could not track it down.

It began to become distracting. She would be sitting and reading, sipping on an excellent old brandy, and suddenly instead of daydreaming about the power of the Knight Captain's biceps as she wielded her sword, and, hrm, did other things, she would be thinking irritably about That Smell.

She became slightly unnerved. Was it possible that her skin had absorbed the scent of dragons? She had bathed, and more than once, since then, but perhaps the odour was persistent.

If that was so, Trev would likely share the problem. She had not noticed anything, but then if she was carrying the scent of dragon herself she likely wouldn't. And neither would Trev. Which made the question of scent somewhat... delicate.

"Leliana," she said diffidently to the spymaster on the same day, having found her friend in the Rookery, "I—can you smell anything unusual?"

Leliana sniffed. "No," she said. "Should I be able to?"

"No, no, I just thought I smelled something odd for a moment," Cassandra said hurriedly, "but I must have imagined it." Perhaps the problem was that the scent was not obvious from a distance; but she did not think that she could ask Leliana to—no, she certainly could not.

But she could ask Trev.

That evening, as they were preparing for bed in the Inquisitor's quarters, she said to Trev hesitantly, "Could you... smell me?"

Trev looked at her blankly. "When?"

"No," said Cassandra, "I meant, would you smell me? Please." Trev was staring at her. "Just tell me if you smell anything anywhere on my skin," said the Seeker impatiently. Maker. Why was this request so difficult to understand?

Trev's eyes went half shut, and she smiled. "It would be my pleasure," she said.

Smelling Cassandra all over—the Inquisitor was nothing if not thorough—took considerably more time than the Seeker had expected, and there were moments when she quite lost track of her purpose. But in the end, a rather flushed Trev sat up and said, "You smell exactly like yourself, which is to say, wonderful. Now, what is all this about?" And so Cassandra explained.

Trev shook her head. "I can't smell the least scent of dragon," she said. "Just you. But then, I have been killing dragons too, and so any scent might also be on my skin. Perhaps you should check?" She smiled winningly.

And Cassandra was more than happy to.

She never did solve the mystery. A few days later the dragon's head moved on, and the scent dissipated from the armoury. But as Cassandra was off in the Hinterlands on an expedition by then, she did not make the connection, and eventually she wrote it off as one of those puzzles that were not destined to be solved, and forgot about it.

*           *           *

Josephine's diplomats had reported back, seeming strangely bad-tempered about the whole excursion. There had been adventures, and they had lost Zevran's trail.

Well, she had tried. And perhaps they had actually been successful: Otranto was still alive, and it appeared that Zevran had given up, at least for now. She thanked her diplomats gratefully and signed off on their requisitions for replacement sets of formal dress that had been damaged beyond repair in some kind of difficulty that involved a lake. It was a small price to pay to save a man's life.

*           *           *

In the end Sera and her crew relied on ropes to hang the dragon's head, having a good supply of these at hand, and tying them off to pegs in the roof beams. It was not aesthetically pleasing, perhaps, but it was effective. It hovered at a height of about ten feet, suspended above Josephine's desk like the head of a decapitated lizard in a spiderweb.

*           *           *

Morrigan appeared in the Rookery late one night, long after all the workers and agents had gone. She did not enter in the traditional way, but instead swooped in through the roof in raven form and then shifted into human shape close to the spymaster's table. She eyed the cages with disfavour. "Your Baron Plucky," she said to Leliana, "has ideas above his station."

Leliana looked at her, annoyed that the witch's arrival had made her jump. "Why are you here, Morrigan?"

"Rumours find their way even to me," said the witch. "I have some eyes and ears of my own to find them out. And so I understand that there is a betrothal that has caused you some distress." Leliana said nothing, and she raised an eyebrow. "'Tis true, is it not?"

"You know it is," said the spymaster shortly.

"Your Ambassador has been kind to me since our recent arrival here," said Morrigan, "and in particular she has been kind to Kieran. "I dislike seeing her disturbed."

Leliana, who had been unaware that Josephine had had anything to do with Morrigan or her child, simply stared. This overture was unexpected.

Morrigan pulled a slip of paper from a hidden pocket and laid it on the spymaster's table. "It may be that this will be of use," she said; and then she was gone in a swirl of dark feathers.

The paper, when unfolded and examined, proved to be a list of names, with a little information after each; and each one, as Leliana began to realize with dawning delight, the name of an Otranto client, and the details of the contract for intelligence that Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto had arranged. This... would be very useful indeed.

*           *           *

Josephine customarily got to her office early, and the first thing she noticed was the acrid smell, strong and strange to her. And then she saw the looming shape of the head, and recognized it for what it was. She gave a gasp that was just short of being a scream and bolted from the room, managing to catch herself in the hallway, where she stood shaking and appalled.

It was not just the unexpectedness of the head that terrified her, although it was startling enough; it was what it meant.

But... what did it mean?

It was not in her bed—thank the Maker—but was it a warning? If so, from who? And what were they displeased with? And why would they have chosen such a complicated and challenging way to communicate their displeasure? Was there any way this could be a warning from Lord Otranto? But he didn't know that she was breaking off the engagement. Did he?

Perhaps she was reading too much into it. Perhaps it had been intended as a joke, albeit a crude and brutal one.

What should she do? If it was a message, her reaction would be a response. If it was a joke—if it was a joke it was beneath her dignity. Either way, she decided, she must show that she was not intimidated. And so when the first runners found her that morning, it was working at her desk, under the looming head. The ropes creaked every time a draft from the door made the head shift, but Josephine behaved as if she did not notice either the head or the unnerving sounds coming from above. When a horrified Cullen offered to have it removed, she simply remarked that it was not necessary, as it was already conveniently out of the way.

Sera, wandering through the Ambassador's office later that day for no apparent reason, as she did from time to time, looked at it and said, "Nice decoration you've got there."

But Josephine, oblivious to the glint in the elf's eye, said only, "It adds a certain gravitas to my office, I think," a response that was disappointing on any number of levels.

It was only the next day, when a War Table meeting was scheduled and Trev spotted the head and said, "So that's where it got to! But it's supposed to go in the Great Hall, there's a place set aside for it," that it was finally removed and returned to the tanner for mounting.

It was small wonder, after all this, that Josephine became a little unhinged.

*           *           *

Josephine had received a reply to her second letter to her parents. They still did not see why the engagement should be broken off, and said so.

"It is frustrating," she said when she and Leliana had a few moments alone together. "My parents do not understand, and it is difficult to explain. They love me, they would do nothing to hurt me, and yet I cannot seem to make them understand that this would do me great harm."

"They cannot see that marriage can cause harm, I expect," said Leliana.

"Oh, they can see that," said Josephine sadly. "They know that damage can be done if people are not compatible. But they cannot seem to see how this marriage would hurt me."

"Josie," said Leliana, "you know that I love you. If I can do anything that will protect you from harm, I will do it. Anything."

Josephine stared at her. She looked if possible even more distressed. "There is nothing, Leliana. I have it all in hand. I am speaking out of frustration."

Leliana could not understand why her reassurances did not seem to be having the desired effect.

*           *           *

The arrival of Charter at Skyhold was unremarked by most people, but not by Josephine. At the War Table the spymaster had said that her visit was a routine trip to exchange information too sensitive to trust to courier, but... was that likely? They had codes for sensitive information.

And then there was the fact that she had arrived just as it had been confirmed that a herd of druffalo from the Hinterlands was to be traded to Antiva. There was such a thing as coincidence, but this... No. This was too much coincidence.

She must act.

*           *           *

Bull's approach was more direct than Morrigan's. "He's not the only one who has intelligence networks," he said. "I sent word out to the Ben-Hassrath and got this. He's been selling information on both sides in the Orlesian civil war at the same time."

"Has he indeed?" said Leliana with satisfaction.

"Oh, yes," said Bull, and showed his teeth. "Man doesn't even have the decency to hold to an exclusive contract. I expect you can do something with this? Obviously it would be inappropriate to assassinate him, but there would be other things that could be done. I don't like what this scum is doing to you and the Ambassador."

"Oh, I certainly can use this," said Leliana happily. "I think we will arrange for the information to be received by the wrong people, and make it clear who provided it."

Bull grinned. "Have fun, spymaster."

*           *           *

There was not really room for a herd of druffalo at Skyhold, even a small herd. There was not sufficient forage for them at this time of year, and there had already been early snow, so they had to be housed in the fortress itself, and as the pens there had not been built for animals of their size and weight, they were continually escaping. Most were amiable and friendly, but some were not, and all of them were as curious as cats. On the day a druffalo found its way into the Great Hall and broke several mosaic pieces, Trev was already on her way to find Josephine.

"Lady Ambassador," said the Inquisitor plaintively, "why did you arrange to bring a herd of druffalo to Skyhold? One of them snatched one of Vivienne's most elegant headpieces as she passed, and ate it. She is not happy. And neither is the merchant whose stall went up in flames from the overflow of the bolt that struck the druffalo. And neither is the druffalo, which is now dead. And Master Dennet is not happy either."

This was an understatement. Dennet, always plainspoken, had had a great deal to say about the presence of the druffalo and the expectation that he would care for them. "I am a horse breeder!" he had shouted at Trev. "Not a nanny for half-witted cattle!" And that was just the beginning of a rant that had lasted for a quarter of an hour at full volume. Trev still had the headache it had brought on.

"It is for the harvest festival," said Josephine, thinking as quickly as she could. In truth, she had not really thought through the reasons she could give for bringing them; her concern had been solely that they not go to Antiva. "Such festivals are important for morale, and, I, er, I have been planning one—there will be prizes!" She made an urgent mental note to herself that she now must begin to organize such a festival in truth.

"I thought," said Trev, "that such festivals usually involved vegetables. And jam. And pie."

"They do!" said Josephine. "But also livestock. And this is a particularly fine herd, it will be an excellent demonstration. I plan a number of substantial prizes for the livestock competition." She beamed at the Inquisitor and hoped for the best.

There was a loud, messy thumping splat nearby, and something splashed them. One of the druffalo had somehow gotten itself onto the broken down section of the battlements and slipped. The force of the fall had killed it instantly, but it had landed on a pile of rusty armour pieces, and the result was messy.

"There will be no prizes for agility, I trust," said Trev dryly. Josephine, who was dabbing at the blood on her sleeve with a handkerchief and had gone rather white, simply stared at her.

The Inquisitor gave her a somewhat strained smile and turned away to walk back into the keep. Josephine fled to her office. Surely the worst was over now; and after the festival—she must start organizing it immediately—the druffalo could be returned to the Hinterlands.

And indeed, in time the festival was held, and enjoyed by almost all, even the druffalo. Skyhold had needed an opportunity to celebrate something, and this served very well.

*           *           *

There was much that could be done to disrupt a spy network. Alterations could be made to messages carried by couriers, and if it was carefully done no one would notice the changes until it was too late. And of course a few couriers simply did not get through with the information they carried.

Leliana was not so crude as to interfere in all of the contracts; most she left completely alone. It would not do to be too obvious; the point was to make Otranto seem unreliable, not show that he had enemies.

Morrigan's sources and her own reported that indeed, Lord Otranto was seriously embarrassed by the errors and omissions and misdirections in the intelligence he provided, which happened just a little too often to be easily explained away.

It was, on the whole, very satisfying.

*           *           *

"Of course, my dear," said Vivienne, "Lord Otranto aims to be a great player of the Game. It is unfortunate that his abilities are not in line with his goals. Did you know that he has embarrassed himself on several occasions?"

"I am aware of the Terraza debacle," said Leliana.

"Oh, it is so much more than that," said Madame de Fer, with acerbic pleasure. "There was also the occasion when the Saturno family outplayed him in a spectacular fashion; he was not able to show his face in court for months after that embarrassment. He did regain some status later, but it was not elegantly done. And then there were the rumours about the Delfin's daughter and the son of Piotr Messini; he had seduced both of them at the same time, apparently, and there were stories about how he had treated them that—well. Since then he has been more discreet, and made a great deal of money, and people seem to have forgotten his... embarrassments. But it is interesting that he has been able to make people forget his past. I wonder if he has paid for the privilege?"

"That would be... even more embarrassing," said Leliana slowly.

"I am going to Val Royeaux in a few days," Vivienne said, smiling. "I think I will look up my old friend Lady Burgoyne and see if she has heard any rumours about him and how he has come to regain his place. She is a terrible gossip, and if there are any stories she will be happy to share them." She smiled regally and was gone.

And Leliana found a smile of her own.

*           *           *

By now a considerable amount of damage had been done to Lord Otranto. He was not a stupid man; some accidents, some errors were normal, but problems on this scale would indicate to him that something else was going on. Leliana intercepted messages that showed his concern. Well, this was to be expected. He was a professional.

But he was not nearly so experienced, so expert as Leliana.

It was like a dance, in many ways, the play of moves made by the two spy networks. Advance, retreat, touch cautiously, respond... the metaphor was a good one. And in this dance Leliana was determined to lead.

Lord Otranto made moves of his own over the next weeks, but Leliana had in anticipation prepared excellent defenses, and managed to stay a step ahead of him at all times. His own increased defenses made it harder to harm his trade, but his reputation was still vulnerable, and Vivienne reported that there were many whispers about him now.

*           *           *

Finally, something went right for Josephine. "My parents have contacted me," she said before a War Table meeting commenced. "For some reason," and she looked suspiciously at Leliana, "they have decided that Lord Otranto is not such a good catch after all. There have been rumours, apparently, that show him in a less than favourable light, although they have not said exactly what those rumours are."

"That is excellent news!" said Cullen. Leliana gave Josephine a pleased and suspiciously innocent look and then examined her notes with interest.

"That is good to hear," said Trev.

"Whatever the reason," said Josephine, "they have finally ceased to argue with me about marrying him. And they will see about breaking off the engagement."

Leliana looked up at this and smiled at her. "I am so glad," she said. "I know it was not easy for you to have them set against you in this." And Josephine's face softened.

"No, it was not. Whatever the source of the rumours... I am glad of them."

*           *           *

Josephine's parents were not the only ones to question Lord Otranto's worth. He had suffered a variety of significant financial losses in trade, and there were rumours that he might be ruined. After all of the problems with his spy network few would make use of it now. And his personal reputation had suffered as well, as old stories of debauchery and, worse, clumsiness in the playing of the Great Game, had resurfaced. He was close to being a laughingstock.

The negotiator for the Montilyets made it clear to Otranto's representative that they were no longer prepared to accept his offer of marriage. Normally this would have been considered a breach of contract and required the payment of very significant penalties, but they were able to argue with some justification that he had misrepresented his finances and reputation.

"There are still arrangements to be made," said Josephine to Leliana, flushed and happy, "and there will be some penalties to my family because we are breaking the engagement, but I think that we will be able to negotiate terms that will not be too harsh. That means... the hardest part is over. Within a week or two it will all be finished, and we—" she stopped and swallowed. "We will be together."

"I knew that you could do this. And you have, " said Leliana, reaching out a hand before she could stop herself—and Josephine took it. It had been a long time since the spymaster had felt such joy.

And for the first time in a very long time, Josephine looked relaxed and happy as well. "I will still need to speak to my parents about us, if we are to avoid such problems again," she said, "but now there is time for us to plan."

*           *           *

The Ambassador had negotiations with a number of nobles in Val Royeaux to conduct, requiring her to travel to that city, and Leliana decided that she would accompany her. In decency they still could not "carry on" as Josie had put it, until the final settlement was agreed. But they could at least enjoy themselves doing other things together; both of them liked shopping and the theatre and were glad to find an excuse to do either. And it had been a long time since they had had anything to celebrate.

Josephine finished a meeting early and took a leisurely walk through the city streets toward the main square. She would be there before Leliana, but that was all right; she could window shop and perhaps later bring her lover back to some of the stores. Leliana had a particular expression if there was something she liked a great deal; if she could surprise that look on her lover's face the Ambassador would make every effort to obtain the item for her, and she did not care what the cost would be, if it pleased the woman who was so dear to her heart.

She was very happy.

But then a rough hand caught her arm and swung her round. The man facing her was handsome and well dressed, but his clothes had not been changed in a day or two; there was stubble on his jaw and he stank of drink. "I have business with you, Lady Montilyet," he said.

"But I have none with you," she replied steadily. For a stranger to touch her in such a way was scandalous and frightening; but he did not seem like a common thug. "I do not know you."

He laughed. "Do you not? We have never met, but I think you know me. I am Otranto of Antiva. I am the man you were engaged to. I am the man you have attempted to assassinate."

Josephine gaped at him. "I—I have done nothing of the kind, Lord Otranto!"

"Do not lie to me!" he hissed. "I am not a fool! My trading business has been devastated, my—my communications network is next best to destroyed. You have spread slander about my name!

"Do not try to deny it!" he shouted as she opened her mouth to protest. "Your diplomats were seen with an Antivan assassin. Doubtless he was instructing them on how to attack me—but you should have paid for the professional. It was a close call, but I survived the attempt. And now I am here to demand satisfaction." He gestured, and another man stepped forward, carrying two rapiers. Otranto took one and pressed the other into Josephine's hand.

Josephine had learned the art of fencing, but that had been many years ago, during her training as a Bard. She had never been an expert, she had never been anything but a rank beginner, and she had given it up when she gave up the profession. "My lord," she said desperately, "I did not try to assassinate you. I swear this."

"And if you did not," he snarled, "then who did?"

Leliana. It must have been. But she could not say that.

Her silence seemed an admission; and truly, in some ways it was. She had not succeeded in protecting him against Leliana. Leliana, despite her best efforts, had turned to the knives in the dark.

She had not succeeded.

"I will have satisfaction," he said coldly. "Prepare yourself."

A crowd had gathered by then, forming a circle around them. Public affaires d'honneur might not be the lifeblood of Orlais as they were in Antiva, but they were highly valued for their theatricality.

There was nothing she could do. This had gone beyond diplomacy, beyond all her skills to repair. All she could do was hope that his anger was not to the point of killing, and that she would survive the encounter. She raised the rapier and did her best to collect herself; she would not allow her fear to show. "I trust you've made this a fair fight, Lord Otranto," she said bravely.

"Upon my honour. Shall we begin?"

He might be drunk, but he was still an excellent duelist. She took a defensive stance and managed to hold him off, but it was clear that his skills were far beyond her own. He was toying with her; it would only be a matter of time till he struck.

He made a complicated attack; she tried to defend, but he knocked the rapier from her hand. It clattered across the cobbles. She was defenseless now; and the lord advanced, smiling.

And then a shadow moved at her side, and someone was stepping between them, holding the rapier en garde.

"Leliana," said Josephine faintly.

"I do not know what is going on," said Leliana to Otranto in a deadly quiet voice, "but Josephine may name a representative to duel in her place. And I will stand as that person."

"Lord Otranto thinks that I have tried to have him assassinated," said Josephine quickly, "and has demanded satisfaction."

"Someone attacked me!" he shouted. "Someone tried to ruin me!"

"Then I am certainly the person you should be dueling with," said Leliana, "for it is I who attacked you."

"No!" Josephine cried out.

"You cannot stop this now, Josie," Leliana said steadily.

"Have at it, then!" snarled Otranto, and attacked.

Hands pulled Josephine back into the safety of the crowd, and speechless with shock, she could only watch as the two engaged. This was a very different fight; there was no toying with anyone. Otranto tested Leliana briefly, and then began to attack seriously.

"Strange that they call you the Left Hand, when you so often use the hands of others to do your work," he said, driving her back. "And strange that those hands should be put to the purpose of destroying a merchant. I would have expected better of the Inquisition." He closed with her. "But soon I shall have the delight of having your blood on my hands."

"It is not the Inquisition that has attacked you," said Leliana over the locked swords. "it is entirely personal. And I would think the Otrantos already have enough blood on their hands after cheating the Terrazas."

"Who told you—!" he said furiously, pushing her away. "You dare bring up that slander here?" She had, as she intended, touched a sore spot; he had lost his temper, and attacked furiously but wildly. It left him open, and a quick stroke to his shoulder drew blood, which made him even angrier. "I promise you, Nightingale, I will personally—"

And then a Josephine regained her voice. "Stop!"

The cry was so unexpected that they both hesitated. Josephine had stepped out from the crowd again.

"No!" she shouted at Leliana. "You promised! You promised that you would not duel for my hand!"

"For your hand?" said Otranto, bewildered.

"Josephine," said Leliana, "he challenged you. I will not stand aside and allow him to harm you. And it is because of my actions against him that he challenged you."

But Josephine, after all the months of stress, had gone completely beyond such logic.

"I knew you were doing something!" she cried. "But you promised to leave the annulment of the engagement to me! Why have you done this?"

"Because I wanted to help!" said Leliana hotly. "You forbade me to duel him, you forbade me to assassinate him. I did what was left to me to weaken his position—I attacked his reputation."

"How could you!" shouted Josephine. "It was an unnecessary risk! You must have known that he could cry challenge over this. The Inquisition needs you—I need you. Yet you have thrown yourself into danger! Why do this? Why risk everything?"

"Because I love you!" Leliana shouted back in frustration.

There was a silence. Josephine stared at Leliana, her lips moving slightly.

"Wait," said Lord Otranto. The tip of his rapier had dropped completely now. "This is—this is because of the engagement?"

Leliana sighed. "I—ultimately, yes."

"And you are in love with Lady Montilyet?"

"I am," said Leliana firmly.

"And Lady Montilyet is in love with you?"

"Of course I am," said Josephine furiously, glaring at Leliana and apparently still blazingly angry with her.

"Had I known this," he said, bowing to each of them very correctly, "I would have withdrawn my suit."

They both stared at him.

"You... would?" said Josephine tentatively.

"Of course," he said. "It is perhaps a weakness, but I am a romantic man. I'm not fool enough to stand in the way of true affection. The Otrantos regretfully withdraw the terms of our betrothal, my lady, with no penalties against the Montilyets. The engagement is ended."

Leliana looked at him in disbelief. It could have been that simple, that to speak directly in the beginning would have avoided all these months of pain? Ridiculous.

But he seemed to be in earnest. She had done him great harm, and yet he had just done what was necessary to break off the engagement without exacting reparations.

"Lord Otranto has behaved honorably in this," she said. "I will withdraw from the duel and forfeit the match."

There was a murmur from the onlookers; by forfeiting, Leliana had confirmed that Otranto had been wronged and returned a great deal of honour to him. But she would lose nothing by it; the nobles of Orlais appreciated such grand dramatic gestures.

Lord Otranto bowed deeply to Leliana.

"I thank you, Nightingale," he said, then, more quietly, "I trust that I will be permitted to rebuild my trading business? I think that the sale of information may be more trouble than it is worth, but I must make a living somehow."

"I see no reason to interfere with that, my lord," said Leliana.

"And the Inquisition is always willing to work with new traders," added Josephine, and Leliana nodded.

Lord Otranto, looking considerably more cheerful at that, bowed again to both of them, collected his rapiers, and walked away with his second.

Leliana and Josephine stood looking at each other.

"I thought you were secretly trying to assassinate him," said Josephine. "I have been thinking that for months."

"I would have," said Leliana, "if you had not made me promise. I love you, Josie. Assassinating him and dueling for your hand are the least of what I would do. But since you forbade it—there were other things I did instead. Will you let me explain?"

Josephine gazed at her and then caught the spymaster's shoulders and pulled her abruptly into a long, intense kiss. And Leliana wrapped her arms around her lover and fell into the pleasure of it. And eventually the onlookers, having decided that there was no more theatrical pleasure to be milked from the situation, left them to it.

*           *           *

They retreated to Leliana's room in the elegant hotel, and began to talk. It took a very long time, and after a while they sent for food, and talked more. There were months of confusion and mutual misunderstandings to uncover.

There had been so many things that had led them astray. Leliana was somewhat hurt when she realized that Josephine's fear had been that she would turn again to the cruelty of the Left Hand, but she was honest enough to realize that her own insistence on not showing her distress was a big part of what had made her lover think it was really happening. "I think, my love, that we must promise each other not to try so hard to protect each other," she said ruefully. "Or at least not without talking about our fears first." And Josephine could only agree.

When she heard of Josephine's panic at the disappearance of the dragon's head, Leliana began to laugh. "Now that was something I had absolutely nothing to do with," she said.

Josephine sighed and shook her head at her own foolishness, and then got a wicked look in her eye. "Perhaps we could have it moved to the Inquisitor's bed, since her concern about it provoked my foolishness?" she said, and Leliana laughed harder.

"Perhaps we could," she said. "But for now there are other things I want to do with a bed. I have been saving them up for you."

"Have you?" said Josephine happily.

"I have," said the spymaster. And she reached out and pulled Josephine to her.

They were sitting in enormous soft plush chairs far too big for them; the fashion of the day seemed to be furniture that enveloped, that one became lost in. Neither of them were big women, and when the spymaster pulled, her hands demanding, there was plenty of room for Josephine to settle straddling Leliana's lap. Perhaps this was in fact what the chairs were designed for, thought the Ambassador hazily; with Orlesian fashions one could never be sure what was intended, but it often seemed to involve facilitating intimate relations.

There were times she had thought their trials would never end, the betrothal would never be negotiated out of existence; but here they were. Leliana's lips were on hers, Leliana's arms were around her, Leliana's hips were between her thighs, all solid and real. Here they were.

And Leliana's hands... ah. Leliana's fingers were pulling the pins in her hair loose. Leliana's hands were unwrapping her, loosening the fastenings of her clothing. She felt a draft of air on her throat, her collarbone. Leliana's hands were shaking, clumsy, with all the months of frustration; and then the spymaster, who was always so calm, so careful, made a frustrated sound and pulled hard, and Josephine heard a pop, a tearing of fabric, and didn't care. Her breasts were bare now to the shock of cool air, and aching, and Leliana's mouth was on them, and... Maker. She knotted her hands in the hair at the back of Leliana's neck and rode waves of pleasure, feeling heat build.

And now Leliana's hands were fumbling elsewhere, loosening ties and urgently shoving the satiny fabric aside, finding bare skin, sliding upward over her thighs, finding her smallclothes, sliding beneath them.

Leliana's hand. Leliana's fingers, moving. Josephine groaned and pressed down against them, finding the rhythm, and crested abruptly, shaking.

"I thought," she said when she had breath enough again to speak, "that you said you had things saved up for a bed."

"I do," said Leliana with a wicked grin that made Josephine's insides quiver again. "Shall we move?" And so they did, and Josephine learned what else Leliana had saved up, and found that she had a number of things saved up for Leliana as well.

*           *           *

Somewhat later, Leliana said to her, "I have something for you, my love." She slid from under the covers and padded over to a vanity, opening a drawer and pulling out a velvet bag. She carried it back to the bed and settled herself against pillows.

And then she paused momentarily, looking a little uncertain, and strangely vulnerable.

"What is it?" said Josephine.

Leliana swallowed. "This... is what I asked Zevran to do for me in Antiva City," she said. "He took my commission to... well. I had these made, one for each of us, to give you when the engagement was broken." She pulled a smaller bag from inside the larger, and gave it to Josephine, and pulled a second bag out and simply held it, waiting.

The bracelet was exquisite, a delicate complexity of floral patterns carved in gold and set with gems. The materials and floral designs were traditional, but some of the other touches were not; within the twining vines a nightingale and a dove were hidden, their heads turned toward each other, their wings overlapping.

"Oh," said Josephine.

Leliana looked at her anxiously, but said nothing.

"Oh!" said Josephine again, and flung herself on the spymaster, wrapping arms and legs around her, holding her so tightly that it was hard for her to breathe.

Leliana felt her lover shaking, and realized that she was weeping. "My love?" she said. "Josie?"

Josephine raised a tear-stained face, and said incoherently, "I—you—my love—I cannot begin to say..." and then she half pulled herself together and said, "This is everything to me. You are everything. Oh, my love. Please, put it on me."

"Ma colombe," murmured Leliana, a glow of happiness and relief spreading through her, and took the bracelet and placed it on Josephine's wrist; and then Josephine took the other bracelet and placed it on Leliana's. And then for a time all bracelets, and all tears, were forgotten.

*           *           *

And even later, after night had fallen and they were lying together half dozing, Josephine stirred and said, with a wicked note in her voice, "I must tell you that I had a long talk with Isabela after you left the party. About your previous encounter with her, the one she described as memorable. It was most instructive."

"Oh?" said Leliana weakly, suddenly very wide awake. "Josie, it was a long time ago. I was very young then. It was—I was—"

"I hope it was not too long ago," said the Ambassador. "It would be a shame if your advanced age had cause you to forget exactly what happened."

"I—" said Leliana, and stopped.

"Isabela was quite exact in her descriptions," said Josephine, "but still, there are some details I am not clear on. I was hoping that you could demonstrate them to me."

Leliana swallowed; her memories of that remarkable encounter were certainly vivid enough that she would not have any difficulty in demonstrating the details. And the thought of demonstrating them to Josie... it was surprisingly difficult to get enough air into her lungs.

"I would be happy to," she said.

And did.

FINIS

AND... BONUS SCENE

My beloved editor told me I should take it out of the main story because it didn't further the plot, and she was right, so after howling a lot I did. But I still loved it, so for those of you who want more Cassandra/Trev, here it is, together with its lead-in.

It took a little time and several pints of ale for Varric and Isabela to catch up, while the others sat and talked and waited for the woman to live up to her reputation, but eventually the pirate eeled her way over to where Trev was sitting.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," she purred, learning forward into a close, deep and impressively revealing bow and taking Trev's hand, "It is delightful to finally meet you. Varric and Hawke have said so much about you."

"Oh?" said Trev, turning pink and finally managing to wrench her eyes up to meet Isabela's, "I hope that it is all complimentary."

"Oh, entirely. I do hope that we may become better acquainted."

"Please, call me Trev," said the Inquisitor, who appeared to be half strangling in an effort to suppress her amusement. "After Varric's tales, I feel that I already know you well."

Isabela smiled meaningfully at her. "Trev, then."

But then Isabela glanced aside and caught sight of Cassandra's expression. The Seeker was watching them, stifling something quite different than amusement and looking like she was sitting on a bed of nails. "And Seeker Pentaghast," said Isabela in a sultry voice, and then, to the delight of everyone in the room except her victim, draped one arm over Cassandra's shoulder and settled into her lap.

Cassandra gave a violent twitch, but her eyes were on Trev, and the Inquisitor was grinning at her reassuringly.

"I have long wanted to meet the Hero of Orlais," Isabela murmured into Cassandra's ear.

Cassandra flamed the most intense shade of red Leliana had ever seen on a human, rendered utterly speechless, and did not seem to know what to do with her hands. Isabela ignored her reaction completely and gave her attention to something Varric had asked. But she was toying with a lock of hair on the back of Cassandra's neck while she spoke to him.

Trev managed to get herself under control and took pity on her lover. "We have tasks early in the morning," she said, "so we will leave you to enjoy yourselves. Cassandra?"

Isabela gracefully acquiesed, sliding off the Seeker's lap, and moved on to speak to someone else. "Such strong thighs," she said appreciatively, smiling back at Cassandra.

Leliana thought that the complicated expression of relief, chagrin and regret on Cassandra's face was quite delightful.

*           *           *

"And what did you think of the famous Isabela?" said Trev, when they were alone in her quarters.

"The woman is outrageous," said Cassandra, scowling.

"Mm," said Trev, sitting on the bed and pulling off her boots, "yes, she certainly is. And she knows exactly how to play people."

"She is bawdy and coarse," said the Seeker, sitting down beside her, her shoulders stiff. "I cannot imagine what Hawke sees in her."

Trev raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Can't you?" And then, looking at Cassandra's expression and the tension in her body, she realized that her lover was genuinely distressed. She paused and then said carefully, "It is hard to ignore Isabela's... attributes. But if one is focusing on those, one does not notice other things. One tends to write her off as nothing more than her body and her desires. It is a tactic that makes her very dangerous, and I think she is very, very good at using it."

"I—had not thought of that," said Cassandra after a moment. She had initially been upset because Isabela had thrust her—attributes—in Trev's face, which made her angry because—because it was so terribly rude and invasive. And then she had been upset because the woman had invaded her own personal space, which was even worse, because the invasion triggered reflexes she had barely been able to control; she had only made the effort because she did not want to embarrass Trev. And then she had been upset because she had felt that she was being made fun of; she had never really learned how to respond to that kind of teasing, and felt helpless when faced with it. And then she had been upset because she realized she actually—well.

She was still certain that pure wickedness played a part, but it had not occured to her that there might be other reasons for Isabela's behaviour. Varric had never suggested such reasons in his stories. But then in Varric's stories Isabela's antics had only ever seemed amusing.

Sighing with frustration, she said, "It is different meeting the real people. Not the characters in Varric's books."

"Yes," said Trev, "it's disconcerting, isn't it? I wonder, if he writes our story, what others will make of the differences between the real people and the romantic heroes he puts in the tales."

"I am not a very good romantic hero," said Cassandra gloomily. She thought privately that Varric, if he wrote the tale, was more likely to make her the comic relief. She was not the kind of person that made a good hero; she was far too prickly, far too awkward, far too uncomfortable. She did not know how to say the kind of clever things that made others so amusing. She would only be a good romantic hero if people made up ridiculously inaccurate stories about her, as they had done about the Hero of Orlais. "They will probably prefer the Seeker in the stories."

"Do you think so?" said Trev softly. "But I very much prefer the Seeker who is here, right now, to a storybook Seeker—or to any other person." And she kissed her lover's cheek, and drew her down beside her on the bed and wrapped her arms around her and kissed her some more until she felt her begin to relax. "I do like Isabela, though," she said. And then, far too perceptively, "And I rather think you do too, don't you?"

"Hush," said Cassandra, going pink around the ears, and bent to show Trev what she really liked.

Somewhat later, when Trev slid down her lover's body to lie between Cassandra's legs, she murmured, "Such strong thighs!" and stroked them. And Cassandra, as Trev had expected, made a disgusted noise. But then, as Trev lay giggling helplessly into her stomach, she took those strong thighs and squeezed. The startled squawk the Inquisitor made when all the breath was abruptly driven from her lungs almost made up for the teasing.